


Home to Stay

by themightiestboo



Category: Karneval (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themightiestboo/pseuds/themightiestboo
Summary: "—that’s what lovers do. Even if it breaks your heart, suffocates and chokes you up, you support the dreams of the ones you love."A piece inspired by Josh Groban's 'Home to Stay'





	Home to Stay

With his head bowed over his journal and his chin propped up on the head of the stuffed cat (the only thing that kept him from smashing his nose against the desk when he dozed off), Yogi’s dwindling focus was on the lines of words that continued to fill the pages. His intent to log events being driven away from memory by his own fatigue left him oblivious to the tranquil silence that surrounded him.

On the other side of the door, Jiki rapped his knuckles against the wooden surface and then used that same hand to nudge his glasses higher up the ridge of his nose. He was sure that Yogi was in the room, having seen him walk in there from the showers only half an hour before. Despite the exhaustion that overwhelmed them both after days of training, Jiki didn’t think Yogi had fallen asleep just yet. 

Again, he knocked, receiving nothing but the same silence that had previously greeted him. Disregarding all courtesy because he was just as exhausted and sore as the next private dragging his feet across the halls, Jiki tuned the doorknob, perking when it gave way under his hand.

When he swung the door open, taking care to do so quietly, Yogi appeared alive and well. And with no thanks to Jiki’s quiet steps, Yogi remained unaware of the new presence, concentration faltering as his words strayed off the ruled lines and up into previously written words. It wasn’t until his shoulder was moved, forcing him to make an even bigger mess of the page, that a startled Yogi raised his head with a retort on his tongue.

“I was beginning to think you’d lost your hearing,” Jiki greeted cheekily, smirking at the flitting emotions crossing Yogi’s face.

In his companion’s hand, Yogi spied an envelope bearing his name in a scrawl that he could identify anywhere. _That_ warranted his full attention now. Abandoning his previous task, the blond launched himself away from his desk to excitedly snatch the envelope from Jiki’s fingers while happily ignoring his fellow fighter and his teasing words.

Like some of those that he served with, Yogi did not have many people to expect letters from. But when they came, addressed to him and bearing either Nai or Gareki’s name, the blond was always beyond elated, curling up with the sheets of paper that he always read at least twice. Seeing Gareki’s name in the upper left corner, paired with the foreign address that Yogi had long memorized before he’d even received his very first letter, had him blindly ushering Jiki out the door.

**_Dear Yogi—_ **

Such a simple greeting never failed to make his heart swell with love and adoration. After making sure that he was the sole inhabitant of his room (after all, Jiki did tread around lightly and soundlessly), Yogi had taken great care in peeling the envelope open as he settled into his bed and had drawn his knees up to his chest to smother a smile.  

Gareki had addressed him fondly as _dear_ more than once; had been doing so in his past few letters, but it never failed to fuel the fire that was Yogi’s love for the man many miles away.

**_I miss you—_ **

“I miss you too,” the blond answered quietly to unhearing ears. The words—his thoughts and feelings—would be written in the letter that he’d begin as soon as he perused the letter two more times. Still, Yogi always felt the need to speak his thoughts, whispering them as if Gareki was right beside him.

_Wringing his fingers in a manner that wasn’t uncharacteristic for him, Yogi paced the living room in the apartment that he shared with Gareki. When he’d made plans to return home earlier that day, wanting to surprise Gareki with nothing more than a nice dinner that he deserved for his work on yet another personal project, Yogi hadn’t counted on having things turn sour so quickly. He should have known that the sudden gloomy weather, complete with its dark clouds and thunderous rain, was a bad omen._

_It didn’t take long during all his pacing until Yogi’s fingers were at his mouth—a faulty habit from many years ago that resurfaced when he was emotionally distressed. He stopped himself before he could sink his teeth into his nails, already imagining Gareki gently chiding him and pushing his hand away from his face._

_Gareki—_

_The blond didn’t know what to think, what to do._

_The offender, the very cause of his distress, remained open on the kitchen counter with its letterhead identifiable from where Yogi stood at one of the apartment. An official Call to Service. It was expected, but he didn’t think it’d be so soon. It was too soon._

_But before he could further upset himself with his own thoughts, Yogi’s attention was snagged by the activity on the other side of the door. Muffled cursing—Gareki’s, he pieced it very quickly—reached his ears, and Yogi took that has his chance to hide the letter from view. By the time the door swung open to reveal a disheveled and soaked Gareki, the letter and its accompanying envelope had been stuck in the knife drawer._

_Gareki’d kicked the door with enough force to send it slamming against the wall behind it, but he was barely deterred by the visible dent that Yogi was sure Gareki would eventually fuss over. The smile that Yogi had forced himself to wear in greeting faltered with the loud noise and then fell at the sight of Gareki’s condition._

_Soaked to the bone with his long fringe sticking to his forehead and over his eyes, and with his messenger bag clutched to his chest, Gareki did not look the part of the grumpy kitten Yogi often referred to him as (out of earshot, of course). He was_ smiling _. And it wasn’t the small, reserved smiles that Gareki showed at intimate moments. This was a full-blown grin, all teeth, that did something to Yogi’s heart. With a hand over his chest, right where his heart was, Yogi couldn’t help but smile as well._

_The two stared at each other, smiling for a short moment before both attempted speaking at the time._

_“Gare—”_

_“I got in!”_

_“Eh?” The blond blinked, trying to make sense of Gareki’s words before the man was digging into his bag to pull out a crumpled letter enveloped. Fear gripped his heart, and Yogi tried hard to ignore the constricting force in his chest at the sign of yet another envelope._

_He took in another deep breath, smile faltering as he resisted digging his fingers into his chest. “Gareki, you should—”_

_“I got in,” Gareki repeated, still grinning and holding the envelope in Yogi’s face. When Yogi reached for the envelope with an odd mix of confusion, curiousity, and amusement at his boyfriend’s antics, Gareki pulled his bag off his shoulder. He watched Yogi read the information on the envelope, took note of his minutely widening eyes, and got even more excited (if that was even possible) when Yogi turned the envelope over to get the letter out._

_“Dear Gareki,” Yogi read out loud, “We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered a spot—” The next few sentences of the letter, the blond read to himself, expression more pensive the further he got into the letter. Under the pretense of rereading the letter even though he knew it was a futile effort, Yogi kept his eyes away from Gareki because he knew; he knew that the moment he looked up see the overwhelming joy within those eyes, he’d break._

_He took in a deep breath, exhaled shakily, and raised his head with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You got in,” he said quietly, forcing the words around the lump in his throat and pulling Gareki into a hug. “Congratulations, Gareki! I’m happy for you!”_

_Gareki frowned over Yogi’s shoulder, almost as if he could see through the veil of sadness that clouded those words. Still, he wrapped his arms around the lanky blond, and he, too, forced himself to smile, murmuring “thanks” in Yogi’s ear._

_Were he a lesser man, Gareki would be offended at the lack of genuine enthusiasm. Yogi had been there with him, day in and day out. When he stayed up till odd hours of the night, denying the need for sleep, Yogi was there to usher him to bed. When he got overwhelmed, frustrated, and crumbled under the stress that was emphasized by his lack of proper sleep, Yogi was there to hug him and whisper comforting, reassuring words._

_Gareki sighed, raising one hand to the back of Yogi’s head. When he’d come running through the rain with his bag clutched to his chest, he had done so with the picture of an excited Yogi seared in his brain—Yogi, getting so overwhelmed with joy that he couldn’t keep his tears at bay, and Gareki himself playfully scolding him for crying at everything little thing._

“I’m just happy for you!” _Yogi was supposed to say, laughing while he wiped his own tears._

_Instead, what he Gareki got was Yogi hugging him even tighter and burying his face against Gareki’s shoulder._

**_I love you—_ **

_“You should go, Gareki,” Yogi whispered into the air._

_The storm had died hours ago, taking with the howling winds, the dark clouds, and the roaring rain. In its wake, the luminescence of the full moon remained. Within the room, where they both laid in bed, the lingering silence would have been serene were it not weighed down by the heavy emotions shared between the boyfriends._

_They battled their own consciences, both unwilling to leave the other, but also willing to be supportive of each other because—Yogi wanted to emphasize to Gareki— that’s what lovers do. Even if it breaks your heart, suffocates and chokes you up, you support the dreams of the ones you love._

_Gareki rolled over in the bed, turning until he was facing Yogi. The room was dark, moonlight hidden by thick curtains, but Gareki could still make out his boyfriend’s silhouette ~~.~~ And, as close as he was to Yogi, he could easily tell that the blond’s lips were set, thin with what he was sure was lingering frustration, and what little light remained in the room illuminated the determination in his eyes. He wanted to argue, bring up some reason or another why deferring his admission would be a good thing, but Gareki was exhausted, emotions dragged through by a roller coaster of events that transpired in the span of only a few hours. _

_There was too much to think of regarding their future. It would have been easy to ask Yogi to pack his bags and move with him. With almost no ties to tie them to their current home, they could make a new life for themselves in some new place and cross off more items on Yogi’s crazy bucket list. This—_ this _was what he wanted, not some unpreventable separation that made his stomach churn and his heart heavy._

_“I’ll think about it,” Gareki mumbled with finality in his tone and turned his back to a flabbergasted Yogi._

_This had been Gareki’s dream. Many months of studying, tears, anger, and frustration, and Gareki was willing to put it all aside for his sake. “_ Because you need someone to return to _,” Gareki had told him when they’d sat at the dining table to talk, all thoughts of dinner forgotten._

_Yogi sighed quietly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, and Gareki pretended he didn’t hear a sniffle._

**_Take care of yourself—_ **

_Molded by the experiences of his childhood, Gareki never developed an affinity to hoard things the way Yogi did. The material possessions that he owned (bought and no longer stolen because that is a life now behind him) consisted mostly of books that he had collected over the years. Some other items, rare odd trinkets that one could never see Gareki buying for himself—like the snow globe that Gareki insisted on keeping even after being fun of for it—were gifts from Yogi and his foster family. He wasn’t like Yogi, who found a use for even the biggest stuffed cat in their shared apartment._

_Well, not shared anymore, Yogi lamented to himself, standing by Gareki’s suitcases while the younger man spoke with the train guard. Two suitcases alone seemed so…so little. Did Gareki have enough? Did he need more clothes, more shoes, more books? Did he take all the clothes that he’d need? What if he had to attend an event and didn’t have the right clothes? What if it got too cold?_

_Those were the thoughts that bounced around in the blond’s mind, effectively muting his attention to the bustling world around him. He thought of his own suitcases, empty and stacked in a corner of their bedroom because he had not begun packing—couldn’t bring himself to, in fact. Not with having to deal with the thought of being away from Gareki for so long._

_He could ask Gareki to stay._

_He_ should _ask Gareki to stay. Yogi wanted nothing more than to make this selfish plea because Gareki was right (when wasn’t he?). Yogi needed someone to come back to. He wanted someone to welcome him home with open arms and a kiss so warm, it made him feel like he had never even left._

_Yogi looked down at the sweater bunched up in his arms, brought under the pretense of being chilly and not worn even once, and looked up to see Gareki staring right at him. As naturally as breathing was for him, Yogi managed a small smile, nothing but the corners of his lips moving upwards for a short moment before his gaze fell on Gareki’s approaching feet._

_“I’ll be back before you know it,” Gareki whispered, leaning forward until his forehead touched Yogi’s. The intimacy contained in this small moment wasn’t lost on Yogi. Gareki was rarely ever affectionate in public, preferring subtle actions that Yogi appreciated nonetheless because that was Gareki’s own way of showing his love, and the thought that he wouldn’t have anything like this for at least a year brought tears to his eyes._

_“I know.”_

_“And,” Gareki continued, bringing his hands to Yogi’s elbows, gripping them tightly, “I’ll try to come visit, as soon as I can. And we’ll go to that terribly decorated café you like.”_

_Yogi smiled genuinely now, comforted by the much-needed reminded that their reunion will be sooner than later. “It has cats,” he mumbled, giggling and using his fingers to dab at his eyes._

_“_ Hideous _pictures of fat cats—”_

_“They’re adorable!”_

_Gareki, amused by Yogi’s pout (the one always showed up with that furrow in his brow whenever he was determined to prove a point to Gareki some also somehow never failed to bring a smile to Gareki’s face), grinned cheekily at his boyfriend. “Still hideous,” he insisted, voice still hushed with his forehead against Yogi’s._

_The two shared a small laugh, momentarily comforted by a fleeting moment that they knew would be in the forefront of their minds for a long time._

_“I’ll miss you,” Gareki confessed under the noise of activity around them. He averted his gaze, knowing fully well that he’d been heard by Yogi—not that he’d been trying very hard to keep his thoughts to himself in the first place. He knew that what Yogi wanted, what he_ needed _was to hear the words in his heart; he deserved far more than hidden, subtle gestures of affection._

_Yogi sensed the tension and hesitation surrounding Gareki. The hands at his elbows had tightened, though Gareki’s hold was far from painful. Yogi leaned back a little, keeping the small distance between them but watching the stress lingering on Gareki’s face. “Gareki?”_

_Gareki took in a deep breath, lips trembling around words that had only been whispered in the darkness, when Yogi was never awake to hear them; words that he knew had been patiently waiting to hear for months. “I love you.”_

_The blond’s mouth clamped shut immediately, teeth smacking against each other with an audible click. He would have recognized and paid more attention to the briefly ensuing pain had he not been trying to wrap his head around the fact that Gareki had proclaimed his love for him. He’d waited for so many months, exercising a level a patience that wasn’t rare for him because he knew Gareki needed to love at his own time. Yogi felt no need to force him because, even if it took Gareki years to say it, he knew that Gareki still cared for him a lot. And Yogi had more than enough love for the both of them. But to hear Gareki say it was…surreal._

_So surreal, in fact, that his own overwhelming joy would not allow him to speak, even when Gareki downright lost his nerve._

_“Yogi…?” Gareki wondered, had he gotten so nervous that he stumbled over his own words and said something nonsensical? His grip on Yogi’s elbows loosened some, and Gareki lowered his head, silently berating himself for screwing up what was supposed to be a precious, memorable moment when a muffled squeal had him perking up immediately._

_Yogi had one hand curled into a fist over his mouth, and his face had taken on a pale shade of red. It was nothing as drastic as the embarrassing shade that Gareki sported, but it was noticeable enough. With Gareki looking at him with that adorable—he’d never say that out loud—and confused look, Yogi couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to do anything to embarrass Gareki, but there was far more joy bubbling within him than he could contain._

_Gareki, shocked into stillness, took in the dramatic—yes, Yogi, it is dramatic—reaction and was ready to make a move to abandon his boyfriend before he was caged in a vice grip that was supposed to be a hug, and was deafened by a squeal that drew bystanders away from their own activities._

_“Gareki~!”_

_“Yogi—”_

_“Gareki said he loves me!”_

_“Yogi, people are staring!”_

_Yogi had hardly a care to give. The opinions of others rarely played a part in shaping his view of things and right now, at the train station, in front of tens of witnesses, Yogi had no qualms gathering Gareki into his arms and spinning him in a circle. Gareki—poor Gareki, he looked ready to go hide in a hole. He could do nothing more than hide his face against Yogi’s shoulder, laughing despite his own overwhelming embarrassment._

_“Put me down, you idiot,” Gareki pleaded, face still buried against Yogi’s shoulder._

_Yogi spun them around more, still laughing before he set an exasperated Gareki back on his feet. “Gareki~” he prodded quietly, laughter now reduced to giggles at the sight of Gareki_ still _hiding against him. He concealed a smile against Gareki’s hair, pressing his nose against the strands in a gentle nuzzle. “Gareki, tell me again,” he pleaded, arms tight around Gareki._

_An idiot; a fool; a lovesick idiot that was his to love—that’s what Yogi was to Gareki. A lovesick idiot who made Gareki’s heartbeat flutter like a swarm of butterflies, serving as a reaffirmation of his strong feelings for Yogi._

_“I love you, you fool,” Gareki mumbled against the fabric of Yogi’s shirt, only to roll his hidden eyes when Yogi muffled another squeal against his head._

_Instead, the blond brought his free hands—the sweater long discarded in the chaos of their celebration—up to Gareki’s head to gently pry it off his shoulder._

_“I love you,” he repeated, pressing a kiss on Gareki’s forehead. “I love you,” again, and with another kiss to Gareki’s nose. And for every declaration of love whispered against his skin, roaming kisses followed until Gareki, impatient and desperate to make the most of the little time that they had left, halted Yogi’s kisses with firm hands on his cheeks and immediately silenced the blond’s whiney protest with a quiet hush._

_He took in the confusion flitting across Yogi’s face—the wide eyes, the low inquisitive hum; the accompanying tilt of his head that, despite being held in place by Gareki’s hands, made him look even younger—young, but never childish because Yogi never liked that—and innocent. But when his thumbs gently caressed the corner of Yogi’s lips, the blond understood the young engineer’s intentions. He hummed quietly again, much like a content child, and his lips moved against one callused thumb to press a careless kiss._

_That small action lit a flame through Gareki and spurred him into action. He exhaled softly, through parted lips, and raised his head towards Yogi. His thumbs moved, barely jarred by the subtle movements in Yogi’s jaw as they slid down to his chin. And Yogi, expectant and wishful, leaned towards Gareki, dwindling the space between them with each passing second._

_Their breaths mingled; breathless, quiet, and nervous laughs were exchanged until the final boarding bell sent their hearts leaping into their throats for all the wrong reasons._

_Gareki cursed under his breath, fingers dragging against Yogi’s skin before he reluctantly dropped his hands. While he turned towards the train, raising himself on the tips of his toes to pick out the nearest and least populated train cars, Yogi had bowed his head, already resigning himself to his fate. When Gareki swore again, coloring his sentences with even more foul words, Yogi raised his head, ready to urge Gareki to run, sappy goodbyes be damned, because if Gareki missed his train, he’d never forgive himself._

_He took in a breath, head held high, and ready to speak. Before he could let out the words, Gareki launched himself at him, hands on his face again, and pulled his face down for a kiss that was as rough as it was desperate. Teeth clashed against lips and Yogi feared he could taste blood._

_To think of holding Gareki close and pressing against him, that was a thought that did not cross the forefront of his mind until Gareki was picking his bags and heading towards the train._

_Yogi deserved a proper goodbye. Gareki believed that he should have been able to give him that much, but fate was a cruel mistress who derived joy in taunting him. It angered him, so much so that he had no qualms pushing and shoving against the crowd. No better medium to let out his frustration, really._

_By the time he had weaseled his way through the crowds, gotten onto the train, found an unoccupied seat and stowed his bags away, he was breathless. Breathless, frustrated, and remorseful. Remorseful enough, at least, to mutter apologies as he rushed to the side of the train closest to the tracks, stepping over an occupant in one of the aisle seats to stick his head out the window in time to see Yogi moving towards him, hand raised and waving the same sweater that he’d brought from home._

_“Yogi—” Gareki wanted to laugh, not because Yogi had been waiting for him, but because he, Gareki, was the one stepping over people like a lovesick fool._

_They did say love made you do crazy things._

_Yogi pushed his way towards the train, getting as close as he could with Gareki also leaning out as far as he could. With Gareki’s outstretched arms within reach, Yogi tossed the sweater. Not exactly what Gareki was aiming for when he stuck himself out the window like that, but…he’d take it. It was better than nothing. Still, staring down at the garment in his hands, he wondered why it’d been handed to him._

_“Keep it, Gareki.”_

_That answered that, then. But, “Why?”_

_It was Yogi’s favorite sweater. The thing was far from threadbare, but its vibrant colors had been muted by many years of washing, and its stitches were frayed—not that it ever stopped Yogi_ and _Gareki from wearing it._

_“Because it’s your favorite!” Yogi supplied in answer. “And—”_

_The train’s whistle brought a swift end to that conversation. Not long after, the train swayed, rocked by the force of its gears moving before the engine was in slow motion. Gareki drew the sweater to himself, leaning into the train car for his safety and keeping Yogi within his sights._

_“I love you!”_

**_I’ll see you soon—_ **

Soon was less than a month away. Twenty-five days, to be exact. Only twenty-five more days before he would be reunited with the love of his life.

            Despite being the only occupant in the room, Yogi lowered the papers and held the light stack over the lower half of his face to hide a smile.

How much had Gareki changed over the past months? Had he gotten taller? Gained a little weight, maybe? Did he keep his hair long, or had he gotten frustrated with it and cut it since Yogi couldn’t beg him not to in person?

Yogi had so much to ask; he always did. He needed the constant reassurances that Gareki was okay. But if he filled the letters with nothing but all the questions that he needed answered, Gareki would be sending him longer letters. Longer letters meant more pages; more pages meant a heavier stack; a heavier stack meant more money spent on mailing. And Gareki, frugal as he could be, had insisted on saving money to cover his trip.

The silence that blanketed the room was broken by a heavy sigh. Yogi’s smile had dwindled down to a pout, a reflection of his own inner turmoil. Gareki had no need to be as conscious with his expenses. Between Yogi’s stipend and Gareki’s scholarship, they had more than enough between them.

Then again, Yogi lamented, eyes downcast, habits were hard to break.

Twenty-five more days. Twenty-five more days until he’d get his chance to playfully berate Gareki all he wanted. Until then, he’d have to make do with the letters that occupied a single drawer at his desk.

Yogi raised the stack of papers to eye level, shuffling them to get the last page—one of a collection of many that Gareki had carefully taped over his desk. This one was…

“La Fontaine…” He frowned, scrutinizing the words and mulling over the right—or what he thought was right—pronunciation. “De la… _C—Croix_ …? Or is it a ‘s’…?” The papers were held even closer to Yogi’s eyes. It had to be a hard ‘c’, he was sure. A soft ‘c’ had the accent under it if his memory served him right. If only his obligations didn’t get in the way of his studying of the language.

The drawing, though, was another evidence of Gareki’s hidden talent. It wasn’t colored—none of the drawings were—but Yogi was sure that the pieces captured the beauty and elegance of all the monuments as they existed. He had high hopes like that, and just as much faith in his boyfriend’s talents. He was sure that when he got the chance to visit, it would be like visiting the country for the second time.

A yawn, wide and loud, was Yogi’s reminder of his exhaustion. Sleep would come later. With determination, Yogi pushed himself off the bed and shuffled to the desk, where his journal remained open. The book was gently pushed aside and fresh paper was retrieved from a drawer.

With Gareki’s letter in his non-dominant hand, Yogi grabbed a pen and began to write.

**_Dear Gareki—_ **

****

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> First fic posted, aaayyyyeee. 
> 
> As mentioned before, this was inspired by 'Home to Stay' by Josh Groban. It didn't go in the exact path that I had in mind, but it's a piece that I'm still proud of. Hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope I didn't miss any typos.


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